


Aloha

by emungere



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere





	1. Aloha

**October 2000**  
Aya watched Yohji rub tanning oil into his skin. It smelled of coconuts and hot sun. Yohji himself smelled faintly of rum from the Blue Hawaii that sat next to him, dripping condensation down the stem to clot the sand it sat in.

He stood back until Yohji had finished. The lei was heavy in his hands, pale yellow plumeria only a few shades lighter than Yohji's hair, now bleached by long days in the sun.

Yohji turned when the lei fell around his neck, head tilted back and up, smiling. Aya bent and kissed him. Their hands met on Yohji's shoulder over velvet-smooth flower petals.

"Romantic son of a bitch," Yohji murmured.

"They were selling them down the beach. It wasn't out of my way."

The corner of Yohji's mouth turned up. "Of course. Because you'd never go out of your way for me."

"Of course not." But Aya's eyes went to the raised red scar across Yohji's stomach. It had been several thousand miles out of his way to retrieve Yohji from the Eszett cell operating out of New York, and he'd almost been too late.

Yohji sighed. "I'm fine, Aya."

"I know that."

Enough doctors had told him so in the weeks since Yohji had been released from the hospital that he had started to believe it.

"Then sit down and stop fussing."

"I don't fuss."

"You've done nothing but fuss for the past two months. Try something new."

"Such as?"

Aya was forced to lean closer as Yohji's hand wrapped in his shirt and yanked. Yohji's lips touched his ear, and he heard him whisper, "Fuck me." Yohji released him and smiled. "Now."

"You're not well enough--"

"I've been well enough for weeks."

"You're still weak."

"Sex is good exercise." Yohji touched Aya's lips, ran a hand, slightly slick with oil, down his neck. "You can do all the work if you like."

Aya stood dumb while Yohji got up and walked away, towel over his shoulder, skin gleaming, black speedos concealing almost nothing. Aya picked up the glass and took a long drink. It failed to cool him in the slightest.

He followed, smiling to himself, faint scent of plumeria drifting back to him.

He walked ahead of Aya and kept his step light, kept a smile on his face. Aya had claimed in the past that he could tell if Yohji was smiling from the set of his shoulders. He'd been right every time so far.

Yohji wasn't about to tell Aya that his wound still hurt. Not all the time, not when he stretched or bent or twisted. There was no consistency to the ache to suggest that something had gone wrong inside him again. Sometimes he thought it was phantom pain from the length of intestine the doctors had finally been forced to remove.

He hurt now, maybe at the thought of doing something so normal after so long. The pain was clear and sharp and drained from the pit of his stomach down to the scar across his abdomen. That was where all his pain settled these days. Headaches, muscle aches, the sprained ankle he'd gotten from trying too hard in rehab. It was like a magnet, reminding him every day of what they'd done to him, reminding him he'd never be the same.

He was missing a kidney in addition to that short piece of intestine. Not because of the doctors. Eszett had taken it. Put it in a jar and showed it to him. Not to sell, he'd been told. Because we can. Because we can take you apart piece by piece, and this is only the beginning.

The scar from that was white and clean and small. It never hurt. He touched his side and immediately felt a hand on his arm.

"Yohji? Are you all right?"

He tried to force his smile back, but it was gone. "I'm fine," he said. "I told you. I've been fine for--"

"You're not fine." Aya's face was almost blank, but the concern was there if you knew how to look.

Yohji laid a hand on Aya's cheek, leaned in slowly, and kissed him almost too hard. He pressed their mouths together and slid his tongue against Aya's, bit down softly on Aya's lower lip as he drew back to hear him gasp.

"I was just thinking," Yohji said. "Make me stop."

Aya took his hand and pulled him into the hotel. The chill of the air conditioning made Yohji shiver, made his nipples tighten, made him move closer against Aya's side.

Inside the elevator, Aya pressed him up against the wall, body against his. Aya was warm from the sun, and his mouth felt almost burning as he sucked just below Yohji's ear.

Elevator to room was a haze of touch, Aya's hands on his, his mouth on Aya's skin, and then they were on the bed.

Aya paused, and Yohji wanted to yell at him for it. Now wasn't the time to stop. But Aya wasn't stopping.

Yohji bit his lip as Aya licked slowly over one nipple and then the other. Back to the first one, lapping, teasing with the point of his tongue. Propped up on his elbows, Yohji watched him.

Aya slid down his body, lips, teeth, and tongue all unnaturally hot. His teeth grazed Yohji's ribs and made him shiver. His tongue dipped into Yohji's navel and thrust lightly, not even giving Yohji time to moan before he moved on.

The soft touch of lips on his scar was a surprise. Kisses, licks, gentle sucking all felt ticklish. Yohji squirmed, but said nothing.

Aya looked up at him, brushed the hair out of his own eyes, and smiled. Then he bent his head and took Yohji's cock in his mouth.

Yohji's hips came off the bed, and his elbows slipped out from under him. Aya's tongue teased and played around the head, and Yohji was moaning before he knew it, breathing raggedly, clutching at the sheets.

"Thought...you were going to fuck me," he got out.

"Next time," Aya said, and slid his lips right down to the base. He pinned Yohji's hips hard with both hands and slid his mouth back up to the head.

"God," Yohji heard himself say. "God, fuck...Aya..."

Aya was fucking his own mouth on Yohji's cock, moving up and down quickly, throat muscles tensing and swallowing as he took Yohji deep every time.

Aya hadn't touched him in months, and it was too much. Yohji came with his eyes closed and his upper body arched, Aya's name barely a breath before he bit down hard on his bottom lip.

The next thing he was aware of was a hand patting his cheek and Aya's voice, sounding worried and a little rough.

"Yohji? Wake up. You have to..."

Yohji opened his eyes and smiled. He watched Aya's face relax and snaked an arm around his neck to pull him close enough to kiss him. Their lips brushed, and Yohji turned his head to speak in Aya's ear.

"And what can I do for you?"

"Nothing. This time," Aya added when Yohji pulled back to protest. "You said I could do all the work."

"I also said you should fuck me."

"Later," Aya said. His arm curled around Yohji's shoulders, holding him close.

"Promise?"

Aya smiled briefly. "You have my word. Now sleep."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Yes, you are."

And whether he was, or whether he was just so used to Aya being right about that sort of thing, Yohji found his eyes closing. He slept with no pain and no dreams.


	2. Waiting

_June 30th, 2000_  
One of the nurses gave me this diary. She said it would help to write things down. It won't of course. But it might stop me from killing the doctors, so I'm writing. 

When I brought him in, they all thought I'd done it. I could hear them thinking it. Fucking doctors. Then they found the surgical incisions. Decided I didn't have enough medical knowledge. Cops wanted to know who my accomplice was. No one wonder people bleed to death in the streets in this city. If anyone helps them, they'll be accused of assault.

Finally Manx showed up to sort things out. Took her long enough. I almost wish she hadn't. Talking to the cops was easier. All I can do now is wait.

He's been in the coma for days now. The doctors are telling me he won't wake up. Morons. They don't know. They only say it to cover their asses. If they say he will and he doesn't, they'll get sued. If they say he won't and he does, they're miracle workers.

Damn them.

How long am I supposed to wait this time?

_July 1st, 2000_  
Aya-chan says she remembers some of what I said to her. So I talk to him. Some of the doctors say he can't hear. Some of them say he can. Whatever they say, they sound so sure, and none of them knows a goddamn thing.

She always looked like she was asleep, like she might wake up any second. I could hardly take my eyes off her in case she woke up while I wasn't looking.

Yohji looks dead. I have to put my hand over his heart so I can feel it beating. He's so pale. Thin. They didn't feed him much I guess. Not surprised. I thought he was dead when I found him until he opened his eyes and smiled at me.

If he dies, I'm going after them. I don't have the time to do to all of them what they did to him, but I can kill them. That will have to be enough. Manx says Kritiker is working on a list of people at the facility where they were keeping him. When I'm done with them, I'll start on the rest of Eszett.

She says Schwarz has been helping. That the telekinetic is Omi's bodyguard or something insane like that. If it's true, I'll have to leave them until last.

But he's not dead. And I can't leave him here. Manx doesn't believe he'll wake up. No one ever believes. Aya-chan would be dead if I hadn't believed.

Goddamn you, Yohji. Wake up, you bastard. I can't do this again.

_July 2nd, 2000_  
Manx brought flowers for him--African violets in a pot, sickly looking, they won't last a week. Brought names for me. And a lot of money, and a passport. Apparently I'm Canadian now. My first name is Francis. I'm not sure how to pronounce my last name. I think it's French.

She brought me Moby Dick to read to Yohji. I wanted to explain why it was a bad idea to read him anything with the word "Dick" in the title, but he can't make dirty jokes while he's in a coma. I suppose I'll have to make them for him. Something about a giant condom for the whale? I'm really not as good at them as he is.

I haven't asked if they raped him. I should, but I can't. If they did we'll have to deal with it, and I don't know how. I'm such a fucking coward.

_July 3rd, 2000_  
I got one of the nurses to bring me some better soil and repotted Manx's African violets. They look a little better. The books all say not to put them in full sun, but the ones at the shop always did better in the window. These seem happier on the windowsill, though they get little enough sun even there.

I tried to move Yohji's bed, but there's too much equipment attached to it. I set up a mirror instead, so he gets some sun too. He looks more alive with the light on his face.

Manx expects me to go and start hunting them. I left my sister, so why shouldn't I leave Yohji? But I didn't really leave her. I was never more than half an hour away in Tokyo. I don't know where this hunt might take me. I don't know what I would be at the end of it. Not human, maybe. Probably. If he woke up later, I wouldn't be any good to him. I have to wait. She'll see that sooner or later.

_July 4th, 2000_  
He woke up. Opened his eyes. Smiled at me again. He asked if he was dreaming and I told him no, this was real. He asked what the date was and told me happy birthday. I'd forgotten. He said he was sorry he hadn't gotten me anything.

The doctors say he'll be all right now. As if they know. But I think he will. I told him I'd kill him if he didn't wake up again tomorrow morning. He said he believed me. Then he fell asleep.

I didn't realize I was crying until Manx came in. She looked so shocked. Worse than if she'd heard me trying to make dirty jokes about whales. She took back the list of names. Says she'll give it to someone else. I'm glad.

I told her we're done, both of us. We're out. She said that may not be possible. I can't remember exactly what I said, but the nurse came in to tell me I was being too loud. Manx says she'll talk to Omi, but it doesn't matter what he decides. I won't let this happen again.

And now I need to find a paper shredder.


	3. Merry Fucking Christmas

**Dec 1999/March 2000**  
Yohji bangs once more at the side of the wooden crate. No response from his captors, if they can even hear him. It's been hours. Maybe days. He can't tell anymore.

The dark is absolute. The pain from his gun-shot leg grows steadily. He can feel the clotted blood on his calf, and the heat of infection. 

He closes his eyes, preferring the darkness behind them to the darkness in front of them. There is just enough room to stretch his legs out, if he sits up. Slumped against the wall, he dreams.

***

Christmas Eve. After a month of searching, Yohji had found the perfect gift for the man who had nothing and wanted nothing. Now he waited impatiently while Aya tipped it end over end, shook it, and did everything but subject it to an MRI.

" _Aya._ It's not a bomb, I swear."

Aya's raised eyebrow said: Are you sure about that?

"Just open it!"

A tiny smile flickered across Aya's face, and he began to peel the paper off--slowly. His finger edged under the tape, peeling it up without ripping the paper in a move calculated to make Yohji insane.

It worked.

Yohji grabbed the present away from him, ripped off the paper in three jagged pieces, and handed it back.

"There! Now take the damn lid off before I die of old age."

Aya's smirk was triumphant, but he did lift the lid off and set it aside. He pulled out the t-shirt.

It was dark green with yellow letters that read: _Assassins do it from behind._

Aya _blushed_.

"Isn't it great?" Yohji asked, grinning.

"No!"

"But it's accurate, you gotta admit."

Aya glared at him and wadded the shirt up into a ball, launching it at Yohji's chest.

Yohji put on a hurt expression. "You don't like it?"

"Are you insane? I can't wear that!"

Yohji widened his eyes and let his lower lip quiver a bit.

Aya's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're doing, Kudoh, and I'm not falling for it."

"This time, you mean," Yohji said, letting the act drop and grinning at him.

Aya threw the wrapping paper at him as well.

"Are you sure you won't wear it? C'mon...for me?"

"You'd just take it as an invitation."

"Oh, you mean an invitation like, 'Shut the hell up and get your dick in my ass right now, or--'"

The pillow caught him in the face.

"Sooner or later," Yohji said, "you're going to run out of ammo. And even if you don't, it's not gonna change the fact that you've got an incredibly filthy mouth in bed."

"I hate you."

"Nah. You love me really."

Aya glared, but leant over and kissed him anyway.

"No," Aya said. "I really do hate you. And I'm never wearing the shirt."

"Except right now."

Aya sighed and pulled his sweater off over his head. Yohji handed the t-shirt over happily, and Aya slipped it on, less than happily.

"You look really hot."

"You always say that."

Yohji scooted across the floor and put an arm around Aya's shoulders.

"Because it's always true," he said.

Aya leaned against him, head on his shoulder. His hair tickled Yohji's cheek, soft and warm. His hand rested on Yohji's knee, and Yohji didn't think he was even aware of it. It had been months now (three months, one week, five days) since they'd gotten together, if you counted from the first time they had sex (not that he was, in any way, counting). Aya was a lot more relaxed, but every unconscious touch still felt like a victory.

Yohji nudged him. "So, is that mine?"

The box sat all alone under the tiny, plastic tree. It had to be his. Also, it had his name on it. He'd checked.

Beside him, Aya started and sat up.

"No, it's--it's for Omi."

Aya reached for it, but Yohji got there first.

"Then why does it say my name on the tag?"

"Accident. Give it back."

Aya's face was tight and worried. He made a grab for the box. Yohji held it away, out of reach.

The box was small enough that he could close it inside his fist. Jewelry-box-sized, in fact. Yohji's smile faltered. Aya wouldn't...would he? He _had_ paid more attention to the foreign news than usual when Canada passed the gay marriage bill, but...

His mind stalled out on the mere possibility, and he stared at Aya.

Aya frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh, fine," Aya said. "Just open it."

Yohji fumbled nervously with the package, unable to find any seam in the paper, all his concentration taken up by _what if_. Aya finally took it away from him, unwrapped it, and popped it open before offering it back. It was, in fact, a jewelry box.

Yohji stared at him, panic-stricken, and Aya's dark expression gradually faded.

"It's not a ring, idiot. Just look."

Yohji looked.

It was an earring. It looked like a diamond, and Yohji couldn't see Aya buying anything fake. It glittered like the real thing, catching the reflection of the Christmas tree lights and splitting it into shards of green and red.

He took it out and twirled it between his finger and thumb, captivated by the sparkle. It looked flawless. And expensive. And he'd gotten Aya a t-shirt.

But Aya didn't give him time to feel properly guilty.

"It's got a tracking device integrated into the setting." Aya's hands twisted together in his lap. "It's not... I wouldn't spy on you. I just thought...with Eszett so active..."

Yohji dragged Aya into his lap and kissed him slowly, hands framing his face. Words often failed to get through to Aya; physical contact worked much better.

"Thank you," he said.

Aya curled around him, all the stiffness gone out of him for once.

"I like the shirt," Aya said into Yohji's neck.

Yohji smiled. "I know," he said.

"I'm never wearing it in public."

"I'll wear the earring every day. And tell perfect strangers my boyfriend gave it to me."

Aya snorted. "As long as I'm not with you, tell them what you like."

Yohji took every possible opportunity for the next two months to embarrass Aya by showing off his Christmas present when they were out together. Aya tended to retaliate by nailing Yohji through the mattress. It didn't exactly encourage Yohji to stop, but he suspected Aya knew that.

***

Of course, the first thing they did was strip him, including watch and earring. They ripped it out without bothering to unfasten it. Yohji hopes Aya will find it, because he'd like to have it back when this is over. He hopes Aya won't, because there's bound to be blood on it, and Aya will worry. Not that he won't worry anyway.

Yohji shifts, curling up on his side, head cushioned on his bent arm. He needs to get out of here before he's too weak to fight, before the infection in his leg turns to fever. If he's quiet enough, they'll think he's given up. Or passed out.

Unless there is no one out there. Unless there was no point to this but revenge.

_No, Mr. Bond. I expect you to die._ But if he were James Bond, he'd already be out of here and drinking martinis with some pretty young thing on a veranda in Hawaii. He pictures Aya in a cocktail dress and smiles.

There's no point worrying. Someone _will_ come to check on him. And he'll be ready.


	4. Smile

**July 2000**  
When Yohji wakes up again the next morning, smiling and more cheerful than a man with so many tubes attached to him should be, the hospital staff tries to kick Aya out. Again. He thought they'd know better by now.

This time, they threaten to call security, and Aya ends up choking down laughter at the thought of doughnut-fed American rent-a-cops trying to make him do anything he doesn't want to do. Of course, if he hurts anyone, they'll call the police, and the police have guns. Aya wonders how many of them he could take out before they incapacitated him. He doesn't have a gun, or even his sword, so they probably wouldn't shoot to kill. Maybe he could share the room with Yohji while he recovered. It almost seems like a good plan. 

"Aya," Yohji says quietly. "Hey."

Aya shakes his head a little. The room is very quiet, and everyone is looking at him oddly, everyone except Yohji. Yohji's just holding out his hand. Aya sits back down in the chair by the bed and takes it.

"Ditch the shi-ne face, baby," Yohji whispers. "You're scaring the civilians."

Aya lets his head hang down, hiding his face altogether. "Don't call me that."

"Sweetheart," Yohji says pointedly. " _Honeypie_."

Aya doesn't need to look at him to know he's smirking, but he looks anyway. It's been so long since he's seen that expression, or any expression, on Yohji's face that even this is making his throat tight. He squeezes Yohji's hand a little too tightly and sees him wince.

"Easy," Yohji says. He turns to the doctors. "He can stay, can't he? I want him to stay."

Yohji always gets his own way. Sometimes it seems to Aya that all he has to do is smile and the whole world trips over itself to make him happy, not just people, but actual inanimate objects.

He knows it's stupid, but he still remembers the time when their refrigerator broke; the ice cream was melting and the fish was going bad, and Omi was on the phone with a repairman who couldn't come out until tomorrow, and Yohji wandered downstairs in his pajamas, peered into the dusty darkness behind the fridge, and hit something with the heel of his hand. The motor started up again with a low, happy hum. Yohji admitted later that he had no idea what part he'd hit or why it had worked.

The doctors let Aya stay, of course.

They talk about tests that need to be done and tubes that need to come out and other tubes that need to be inserted. They poke and prod and ask Yohji if this hurts, if that hurts, how does this feel, and before they're halfway done, Aya wants to punch every one of them in the gut and ask if _that_ hurts.

Yohji smiles and nods through it all and rubs his thumb over Aya's knuckles.

"Are you okay?" Aya asks, when they're finally gone.

"Of course," Yohji says. He's still smiling. "This is the good part."

"The good part?"

"The part where they can't hurt me."

Aya frowns. "Who... The doctors?"

"No, you know. Them."

"Yohji, no one's going to hurt you. I promise."

"I used to not like this, you know? Seeing things that aren't here? It really freaked me out. Thought I was going nuts the first time it happened. But I don't mind anymore. It's a lot better than knowing what they're doing to me, even if it does still hurt when I get back."

Yohji is still smiling, bright and happy.

Aya's throat is so tight he can hardly swallow. "Yohji...this is real. You're really here. It's over."

Yohji pats his hand. "You always say that."

This is a way to lose him that Aya hadn't even considered. He looks at Yohji's smile, at Yohji's hand on his, and feels physically ill. Yohji can't see that he's real? He can't even tell the _difference_ _?_

"Usually it's the beach, though," Yohji is saying. "Hawaii. Or the flower shop. And I get a shower. I'm so sick of being dirty. I fucking _itch_."

It was supposed to be okay when Yohji woke up. It was supposed to be over. Yohji would hurt, but he'd _be here_ , where Aya needs him, not stuck in his head somewhere, smiling and waiting for people to start hurting him again.

Yohji yawns, eyes closing.

Aya waits until he's sure Yohji's asleep and lets go of his hand. He walks out the door for the first time in five days, down the hall to the visitors' lounge. He sinks into a hard, plastic chair and covers his face with his hands.

Manx finds him there some time later, and Aya explains what happened.

"I'll tell the doctors," Manx says, and then she's gone again.

Time passes. Some kid asks Aya if he can have money for a soda, and Aya fishes a few bills out of his pocket. The kid comes back with a soda for himself and a Snickers bar for Aya that he got with the change.

"Keep it," Aya says, which is obviously what the boy was hoping to hear.

"Thanks."

Aya doesn't answer, but the boy sits down next to him anyway, thankfully quiet.

Manx comes back a few minutes after that and sits on the other side of him.

"They say it's not all that unusual. It'll just take time for him to come out of it."

Aya nods.

"He's awake again," Manx says. "Asking for you."

Aya says nothing.

"You won't go?"

He shakes his head.

"They couldn't pry you out of there with a crowbar half an hour ago. You're an idiot, Abyssinian."

Silence was always his best defense. Eventually, Manx sighs and gets up. The click of her heels echoes off the walls as she walks away.

"How come you won't go see your friend?" the kid asks.

Aya thinks about that for a while, but he knows what the answer is, really. "Because I'm weak," he says.

Because everyone has a breaking point, and Eszett seems to have found his and Yohji's at the same time.

"Yeah. I'm scared to go see my mom too. She has a tube down her throat to help her breathe."

Aya does, honestly, want to explain that it's okay to be scared, that it doesn't make him weak--he can't be more than eight, for god's sake--that his mother will understand. He can't. He doesn't know the right words or how to say them.

Silence and killing are the only two things he's ever excelled at, so he gives the boy some more of his blood money and sends him off to the vending machine again. When he gets back, both of them eat Cheetos until the boy's father comes to get him.

"Bye," the boy says.

Aya waves.

***

It takes Aya two days to get himself together.

Yohji is still asking for him. Aya still hasn't gone to see him and still hasn't left the hospital. He washes up in the men's room, dozes in the lounge, eats horrible sandwiches from the vending machines.

The nurses are kind to him, smile worried smiles, bring him muffins. They don't seem real to him, which he thinks is fairly ironic.

He can only tell the passage of time from clocks. Everything else is white-walled neon-lit stasis.

It's almost two in the morning when he makes himself go back to Yohji's room. Yohji is there, as Aya half feared he wouldn't be. Sleeping, hands folded on top of the covers, legs neatly together. It must be hard to sprawl properly in a bed this small.

Aya steps closer and touches Yohji's arm to make sure it's still warm, to make sure he's really there.

Yohji opens his eyes and smiles, but the smile is brittle this time, and Yohji's eyes look almost desperate, searching his face.

"Hey," he says, voice rough. "You're not supposed to leave." His hand smooths over his stomach, tracing the path of one of many cuts Aya remembers from when he found him. "It's not supposed to hurt, and you're supposed to be here. That's the deal." His voice is rising. "That's the only way it works. If you're not-- I can't--"

Aya punches him in the nose, hard. He feels cartilage crunch under his knuckles.

Yohji claps a hand over his now-bleeding nose and stares up at him.

"This is the real world, Yohji. It hurts. And sometimes people leave."

Silence, silence, silence. Aya's never hated it more in his life.

"Aya?" Yohji isn't smiling anymore. His eyes are wide and shocked, and his face is pale. He looks like he does when he's been startled awake by one of his nightmares.

"Yes."

"This is--"

"Real."

"You hit me."

"I know. I should call someone to look at it."

But Yohji grabs his hand before he can reach the call button. "It'll wait," he says. "Where am I?"

"A hospital in New York City."

"What happened? Are they--"

"All dead."

"Okay. Okay, good." Yohji takes his hand away from his nose and presses Aya's hand between both of his. His nose dribbles blood down his face, but he doesn't seem to care.

"You're safe," Aya tells him.

Yohji nods. "I knew you'd come."

"I know you're lying."

"Yeah," Yohji says softly. "But I hoped you would."

It's good enough. Yohji's nails dig into his skin, and Aya rests his forehead on their joined hands.

"I'm glad you're back," he says, because for once silence doesn't seem sufficient.

"Yeah," Yohji says. "Me too."

They fall asleep like that, and Aya wakes in the morning to the sight of Yohji's swollen nose, the trail of dried blood that runs over his mouth and chin, and to the sound of his swearing.

Yohji's arguing with the two police officers who want to arrest Aya for assault, with the nurse who wants to clean Yohji's face, with the doctor who's saying Aya never should've been allowed to stay past visiting hours. Yohji, unsurprisingly, seems to be winning.

Aya would laugh if he didn't think it would get him arrested or sedated. Instead, he smiles a little and stays quiet. Yohji, as usual, is loud enough for both of them.


End file.
